Happy Dawning
by Myevltwin
Summary: The Dawning has come, but not all are happy with it. One seeks comfort from the world he was brought back to, the other tries to make things right. One-Shot.


A/N

This is a One-Shot that I'm hoping to get out before the Dawning Hits. This idea came to me shortly after hearing the sad story of Guardian-Uldren, and while I think most of us would still hate him for his past actions, his present actions - though not clearly mentioned - might actually be better for him as a person.

**Happy Dawning**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Many times those words had been spoken, and many times those words lead to something spectacular. Dark Age weaponry, Golden Age trinkets and tech, mystical relics surging with power beyond any Cryptarchs dreams or Ikora's knowledge.

Not all the time. Most of the time is was something as stupid as picking a fight in the Crucible to prove something to some new or old upstart, like Randy or Redrix. Randy was an ass. Redrix was a jerk. But they were good people. His friends.

No. A good majority of the time those words were spoken by his first friend that knew picking that fight wouldn't end well. And, sadly, most of the time he was right.

It all started when he was awoken outside the walls of the Cosmodrome all those years ago. When he took his first breath, his throat was raw. Thirst hit him first, not the bright light of the rising sun or the cold air that nipped at his flesh under the rags that his Ghost had made for him. But that sudden realization that he was alive was jolting and the second thing he remembered feeling. He was alive.

The world was not one he remembered, and not because time had gone by for him, he just didn't remember it. It was dark, yet beautiful, mysterious. His mind wandered from one thought to the other that he barely understood what was happening.

The little thing, that Ghost, spoke to him in his mind. He felt a sense of belonging to the thing. Like it wasn't just some machine, but a piece of him. Time had never been on his side. Asking question had to wait. Forced to retreat and find a jumpship to get out of the Fallen Territory, he remembered feeling fear. Fear that he didn't understand the world. Fear that he was alone. Fear that he might die.

All those things held him back at times. That was until he met them.

When he got to the tower, he felt taller. Ikora Ray, the Warlock Mentor of the Vanguard, spoke kind words, offering assistance in his new life. Cayde-6, the Hunter Mentor of the Vanguard, the loud, brash, (_not) _funny Exo promised him treasures beyond his wildest dreams for a shot out of the tower. And Zavala, the Vanguard Commander, Titan Mentor, and the most no-nonsense person he'd ever met.

They helped him pick up the pieces of his new life, forging something strong within him. Lord Shaxx saw to his Light, Banshee-44 saw to his arsenal, the Speaker saw to his mind, Ikora taught him how to wield the Light as a weapon, and Cayde-6 taught him to enjoy ramen.

They were there for him. Not many Guardians were in the beginning. Too many of them were reborn, lost their Ghost because they were too far out, and died. It seemed like every day there were reports of new lost Ghosts out there being found.

But when he needed something to cling to, for guidance, for strength, or just because he wanted to remember what he was fighting for, he found it in small trinket when he was revived. A small, golden, necklace. When he touched it, he found flashes, like memories, spring to his mind. He saw something there in those flashes that left him warm inside. Maybe he was remembering his past or inviting something to keep him going, but the chain he wore gave birth to the person he is today.

So he vowed to do what he could for those less fortunate.

He fought for the City, for the weak, for those that had no hope, and those without a light to guide them. He became a pillar for those that could not stand under their own strength. He did this because of the thing that made him warm inside. No one needed to live in fear. He would be there. He made that promise, lived by it.

Stories of the Golden Age said Humanity reached out across the stars, living on worlds not like Earth. He wanted to see them, take them back from the Darkness that had taken them away. Show the world that they didn't need to live in fear of shadows and aliens.

He made mistakes along the way. Woke the Hive on Luna, pissed off the Vex, angered the Fallen, started a war with the Cabal on Mars. Yeah, not his greatest moments. But he beat them back. He beat them back so hard that they had no other choice but to leave or die.

He killed Gods, Princes, would-be Gods, and powers beyond anything no mortal mind could comprehend. He slew Atheon, Times Conflux. Crota, the Son of Oryx. Oryx, the Taken King. Skollas, the Kell of Kells. Aksis, the Archon Prime.

People spoke of his accolades. Told stories to their children about his heroic deeds throughout the Last Safe City. And yet… none of it mattered in the end.

For all his heroic deeds, for all of his strength, his Light, the Last Safe City still fell to the Cabal. To the Red Legion. It hurt. To gain so much and lose it all was just insulting, damaging. But the memories, the promise, the vow, made him get back up. Made him fight again. If he didn't have his Light, he still had his training, his guns, his wits. He could fight back.

It was probably for the best that he was the one to see everyone at their weakest. Zavala went to Titan, thinking it the best place to gather his strength and men, to mount one last operation against the Cabal, take back the Traveler and their city. But the Hive had overrun Titan. Zavala's plan was shot down long before it even got a chance to be put into motion. Too many Lightless Guardians rushed to his call and lost their lives.

When he found Cayde, the Exo was… Well… forgetting Ikora's lessons on why Vex were so impossible to nail down. Stuck in a time loop and constantly being thrown around Nesus like a ping-pong ball in a game, it took him hours to get the wise cracking Hunter out of his mess and square him away.

Ikora was on Io, and not of a right mind. She was brave, braver than Zavala, willing to throw her last life at her enemies, but was talked down by a friend.

They took back the city after a long and grueling fight, woke up the Traveler, and Zavala declared it a new Golden Age for Humanity. With the Traveler awake, older, more terrible enemies began to surface.

Mercury become a point of interest for the Cabal, Mars as well. Xol, a Worm God, woke up on Mars, caused problems. He stopped their enemies in their tracks. Saved millions by doing so.

But all of that amounted to nothing nearly a year later.

It was supposed to be an easy job. In and out. No problem. No muss no fuss. But it wasn't. Petra had not realized the gravity of the situation she was presented with. No one had until it was too. A prison riot had erupted in the Prison of Elders. Cayde grabbed him up, taking him along for the ride to help Petra. Oh they had laughs along the way. Cayde was making jokes, Ghost was being overly worried, and Petra was trying to do her job.

But then it went to shit.

It wasn't a prison riot. It was a prison break. Uldren Sov had done the unthinkable: He killed Cayde-6 after a lengthy fight with the Scorn.

Vengeance was never the way for Guardians. It lead them down paths best avoided. But he couldn't. Neither could Ikora. He set out alone though to bring down Uldren. It took days for him to find him. When he did, he didn't hesitate. Petra at his side, they pulled the trigger. Uldren died.

But the pain didn't fade. It only got worse. He fought. He fought against the Fallen, Cabal, Vex, and Scorn until he was out of ammo. Out of options. He fought until he had nothing left. And when he had nothing left, he dragged himself home, threw himself into the Crucible. Nothing he did relieved the pain he felt.

His thoughts became dark. He fought against it as hard as he could. A ray of light was needed. Something to make him better. When he touched his necklace, he found no memories. The Light hadn't abandoned him, but his own trinket, his strength, had.

Then, one day, as if reaching out from beyond the grave, he found strength in a new thing. Cayde was a very secretive person. He hid things in plain sight because sometimes it was a joke. Other times it wasn't. He had stashes all over the system. Some of them carried things like lost relics, notes, and sometimes just used ramen bowls. But one day he fought it: Cayde-6's diary.

He poured over the thing, hoping to get an answer for his aggression. And he did. Just not the one he thought he'd get.

Cayde had been a very lonely person, believing he had no real friends to speak of. On some level, both of them were the same person. They were both hurt and alone. But clung to a memory of something that they didn't know was real or not. They made a truth and a vow from that memory to do good when they could.

The pain lessened, his mind finally put to rest, and he felt a great weight leave him then. Cayde's final message to him, to anyone reading this thing, was to do good because it was good and to find something to cling to make it your own.

Which left him with a hard choice and bitter pill to swallow.

"Yeah."

Ghost sat in the air, his shell spinning slowly in thought. They were a few miles out from the City. Behind him they could hear the sounds of Guardians laughing with the citizens as the Dawning was happening.

Without his helmet, it was easy to see that his Guardian was serious. He stood tall, though he was sad, angry, bitter, and a little worried.. But it had to be done.

Slowly, Ghost turned around and lead the way. He followed, his weapons discarded for this. Slung over his shoulder was a loaded pack.

Shipping containers lined the walls. Some of them were marked with graffiti and bullets. One of them was slightly ajar and smoke filtered out the opening. It was silent inside the thing. Ghost hovered over the entrance, scanning the place before something darted out around the corner, another Ghost.

"Pork."

"Pulled Pork." The Ghost corrected the Guardian. It swiveled in the air, it's single eye lit up brightly as a show of joy. "Can I help you?"

The Guardian worked his jaw, beating back his anger again. "I wanted to speak with your Guardian." Pulled Pork drew back a little, its eye dimming as he looked briefly to the container. For a long moment there was a silence, the Guardian watching both Ghosts as they looked from one another to the container in question. "I'm not armed." He finally confessed. He raised his hand high. Not a weapon on him.

Pulled Pork scanned him and then the pack. It drew back again, this time looking at him accusingly. "You lied."

"Not my weapon."

"It's true." Ghost proclaimed, flying in front of his Guardian. "Please, we just want to talk with your Guardian. It would mean so much to us. And probably him."

Pulled Pork released a small chitting noise, the closest to a thoughtful hum as he could create when stressed. "Pork…" A voice called out weakly from the container. Pork hurried inside. The voice was quieter now, barely audible from their distance. A moment later Pork emerged and the contained door opened.

Out stepped a man in tattered clothes and a beat up helmet. He carried a hand cannon - A Bandit Mk. 24 - at his side. As soon as he saw the Guardian, he slinked back inside.

"Wait!"

The Guardian stopped, looking back out slowly, his hand reaching for his gun.

"I just wanna talk."

Pulled Pork moved beside his Guardian to eye the other two that stood across from them. The Guardian hide behind the door, his hand on his gun as he waited for the inevitable to happen. It always happened.

"Please… Just… Give me a moment. I promise. Nothing bad will happen." The Guardian raised his arms again. "I'm not armed with any of my weapons. So please can we talk?"

The worried Guardian looked to his Ghost for a moment before nodding and pushing the container door open further.

Both stepped in and found an ornate silver blanket, old pillow, and some food rations near a small fire. Both sat on opposite ends of the fire, the pack sitting further towards the new Guardian.

"I understand you're new to all this." He reached into his pack and the new Guardian tensed until a brown book was brought out. Working his jaw again, he licked his lips. Once more beating down the desire to shoot him right then and there. But he held the book in his hand, flipping through it and smiling. Warmth formed in his body as he shut his eyes, remembering a time long lost. "A friend of mine once wrote this book. A diary, really. Good friend. Probably the best friend I ever had."

"I recognise the book." Pulled Pork informed him, scanning the thing and then retreating back to his Guardian. "Why are you here?"

"We're here because it's right." Ghost answered.

His Guardian was silent, his eyes firmly shut as he worked his mind and body for something to ground him again. This was hard for him. Hard for both of them, really. Ghost didn't want to do this anymore than he did.

"I'm here to make things right." The Guardian slid the diary across the metal floor. The new Guardian slowly snatched it up, peaking at the thing as he made sure to keep an eye on the man in front of him. "I did a lot of bad things in the past. A lot of good too. My friend, the one who wrote that, died about a year ago. Good person. Made me who I am today. When I lost him… I... I…" His words failed him. He choked back a sob. Tears filled his eyes.

The new Guardian leaned back away from him in fear.

"...I thought it would be the end of me." He reached under his shirt and withdrew a worn golden chain. His thumb rubbed the top of it longingly. "This was all I had when I woke up for the first. When I hold it, sometimes I get memories. Nothing solid. Just a place and shadows. But I feel warm when I do. When I lost my friend, I lost this warmth from it. I fought for the people because of this thing. It made me who I was. Made me a better man. I tried to be like my friend."

"How did he die?"

"He was brought down by terrible people. Fallen that had lost their way and become sick. They killed him." He half lied. "I'm here to make things right. When I heard about you… I was reminded of myself. No one has helped you."

"Because I did something in my past life. I can see their looks. I know what it means. I'm not a fool."

"You're right. You're not a fool. But neither are you someone who did wrong. I've heard that you've saved some people. Fought against the Fallen and the Hive here on Earth. What few people you saved have spoken well about you. But you don't go to the City."

"They hate me."

Nodding slowly, the Guardian reached for the pack. "I know they do. That's why I'm here. To set things right. Whatever you did in the past, whatever evil act it was, it's in the past. Where it needs to be."

The new Guardian stared at him and then down to the journal/diary. There was a warmth from the book. It's pages were neatly written, well thought out. He could see why the man in front of him was trying to do good.

"What's your name?"

Scratching at the back of his head, the older Guardian smiled. "Twin."

"Twin?"

He laughed and put his back against the metal wall. "When I came into this world, I didn't have a name. I got the name when someone said I looked just like them. We've been together since the day we met. He was the one who gave me my name." Twin gave him a pointed look. "What's your name?"

The new Guardian recoiled a little. "Uldren."

"Uldren? Nice name." He reached over and offered his hand. Uldren stared at it from behind the visor of his helmet before he gently reached out and took it. They shook and Twin leaned back against the wall. Uldren looked down at his hand and smiled. "I'm not one for the Dawning. I think some part of me never liked it simply because there are those out there that aren't capable of celebrating it. Dead or just not safe. If they can't experience it, then neither can I."

Uldren nodded mutely.

"The pack is for you. I think… I think you can do good. You just need a helping hand. Someone to be there for you when you need it. If you ask, I'll come help it. Everyone gets lost from time to time on the road of life. But as long as you have someone there to make sure you stay straight and true, no one will blame you for anything." Twin got to his feet, looking around and then to Pulled Pork. "Take care of him, Pork. If you need me, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll come in guns' blazing. I promise."

Pulled Pork spun around the room, his singular eye lite in joy. "Of course! I'll take care of him. And if we get in too deep, I'll contact you."

Ghost gave a sigh. "You're making promises I feel you can't keep."

Twin smiled. "Nah! I can keep my promises. Besides, I'm known for making the impossible possible. I just needed a little shove in the right direction." He stopped at the container door, his hand resting on the rim of it. "Uldren, I'm serious. If you ever need me, call me. I'll be there." He left the three.

Ghost sat in the air, his singular eye narrowing his shell spun. Uldren reached into the pack and withdrew some armor and a hand cannon. It was black and white with a spade drawn on the barrel.

"Find something to ground yourself to this world." Ghost told him. Uldren looked up at Twin's Ghost as it lowered down to his eye level. "A wise man once said that the brightest smiles are often shown by those that hurt the most. I know you're hurting, but try smiling. You have a friend in the both of us. Just call us."

Ghost departed, eager to return to his charge. Pulled Pork looked down at the armor and gun, his shell turning slightly as he scanned the stuff for good measure and so he could repair it later on if it was needed.

Uldren pulled his helmet off, brushing his hair from his face as he stared into the visor of the helmet he was given. He tried it on and smiled when it realized it fit snuggly. There was a cloak, chest piece, boots and gauntlets.

At the bottom of the bag was a photo of Twin and Ghost with a message scrawled across it. _Happy Dawning. _


End file.
